Karasu and a Cup of Coffee
by Robina Snyder
Summary: Karasu has just finished assassinating a US Senator, and stops by a small southern diner for a late night cup of coffee. Murder ensues.


A/N: And I only thought I was done with YYH for today… I found a Karasu (just him, no one else, no icky-Kurama-romance, just Karasu in all his beautiful/insane glory. They have a fanfiction second and nothing in there… I must rectify this immediately!

* * *

"What'll you have stranger?"

"Coffee, black," I say, sitting down on the bar stool. I set my mask down next to me. It's not much use to me when I can't keep control because of how people are staring at me when I where it.

"Nothing else? How about some eggs, biscuits, hash browns, grits and gravy? I'll even throw cheese in the grits," the waitress says. I suppose she's pretty for a human. Brown hair, green eyes, Caucasian. Overly happy. Not interesting. Good for her.

"Are any of those things besides the eggs and biscuits actual words?" I ask. I think she thinks I'm kidding. I'm not.

"You'll just have to try 'em and see mister," the waitress says with a flirtatious wink. I smirk just a little. It's been a while since anyone has been interested in me, or at least long enough to be interested without being dead.

"I suppose I'll see then," I say, and she grins, understanding.

"Full order Hal!" the waitress calls, walking to talk to the man in the back. The dinner is not very crowded, just a few truck drivers who pass through regularly, a couple of guys who just got off the late shift, and me. The place is old, but properly clean, and there's some ghastly musical anthem coming from the… what was it? Jukebox? It's horrible and reminds me that I'm a bird demon who can't sing, and that it's been years since I heard any music at all.

"Here's your coffee hun," the waitress says. Mid twenties, I imagine. She slides the plain white cup in front of me, and I reach out to take it. My long fingers curl around the handle and bring it to my lips, blowing lightly. I take a sip. It's not good, and it's very hot, but I continue to drink it, noticing the waitress in looking at me. Is she that interested in me? Some kind of interesting delusions? I set my cup down and her eyes follow my hand. Well, that's disappointing.

"What?" I ask.

"What long nails you've got, grandma!" she exclaims, grabbing my hand with more speed than I'd expect from a human and starts examining my claws.

"Grandma?" I ask, not understanding.

"You know, Little Red Riding Hood?" she asks, and I give her a blank stare. "Really? No?" she asks. It must be something well ingrained in human culture. I need to rectify not knowing it… but given the way I've been living up until now it probably won't be relevant by the time I have contact with humans again. "It's a joke stranger, you're supposed to laugh at it," she finally fills in, letting go of my hand, which I instantly stick in my pocket before she can grab it again.

"Well then, it's very funny," I say, pausing for a moment before removing my hand from my pocket to take another sip of my coffee. Innocent touch is foreign to me. I touch to cause pain, or am touched to cause pain. The withdraw is a natural reaction, nothing more.

"Real cute," she says sarcastically before picking up my mask. I have a momentary urge to blow her up for that, but I don't. I'm supposed to keep a low profile, and if I do over react I'll not be allowed out again… and it's such a lovely night, so close to morning. I miss the sunrise.

"You don't have qualms with touching other people's things," I say.

"Oh tosh, I'm not going anywhere with it," she said, examining it closely. "What's it for?" she asks.

"To keep fumes out," I say. The smell of cooked flesh doesn't appeal to me, but it makes me want to make more. "For protection," I add. For others, not myself.

"Oh, so what do you do?" she asks, running her rings over the dull gray metal. I feel a self conscious need to clean it.

"I work with bombs," I say. What else can I say?

"So, you're like a bomb tech?" she asks, raising the mask to her face.

"Something like that… what are you doing?" I ask as she puts my mask on.

"Being curious," she turns away to try and get it on properly. "What do you think?" she asks when she turns around. I actually laugh, that surprises me. It's ridiculous seeing anyone so innocent wearing something for such a dark purpose. "I knew you could laugh there Dracula," she says. I don't get the reference. I settle down a little, forcing myself not to laugh anymore.

"I do have that capability," I say.

"Okay… of this thing really doesn't smell that good," she says, fumbling to get the mask off.

"I wear it often enough, plus sulfur and gunpowder get stuck inside," I say, stand up to help her get it off, but she has it off without my help, and sets it back down next to me.

"Well, good luck to you on that," she says. I reach to take it, and so does she, the effect being that her hand is resting on top of mine. Basically smooth, no calluses, a scholar then.

"What are you doing?" I ask like I'm not considering exploding her hand if she doesn't take it off mine.

"Just another second," she says. I consider my options before removing her hand. She picks the mask back up and puts it to her face, and I think she's about to put it on again. "I was right, it's got a nez-pince attached," she says proudly before putting my mask down and sliding over to me, making an uncomfortable sound that only I seem to be able to hear. "Never seen anything like that before," she admits. "A nez-pince attached to anything like a mask."

"They're reading glasses," I say, and she laughs. What's funny about that?

"Order up!" the man in the back room calls, and the waitress goes away, returning with the plate. I stare at it and the utensils she brings. There's eggs, which I just remember that I don't eat, and something that looks like a biscuit only there's white stuff over it, and something that looks like little yellow and brown strips of something… and a whit-ish slop with a yellow tinge and a bit of melting butter sitting ontop.

"How do I eat this?" I ask at a complete loss. Humans come up with the most confusing things to make up for their weaknesses.

"You know, I could tell you're not from south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but where are you from?" she asks, seeming equally confused, but she's just said even more things I don't know what they mean.

"What?" I ask.

"You've got to be a Northerner then… none of them seem to remember," she said. "The Mason Dixon Line divided North and South US during the Civil war… you know I bet yer from Canada," she says.

I finally have some sense of what she's talking about. I'd vaguely heard of such a war, but blast if I remember anything about it. "No, not Canada," I say. I at least know what Canada is. "What is this exactly?" I ask. "And how do I eat this?" I add, looking back down at my plate. I'm very hungry, and my sense of smell really isn't anything I normally rely on as it is normally blocked by my mask. I think it smells good, but I can't tell.

"Oh for the love of-" she cuts herself off with an exasperated sigh. "Use the spoon for the grits," pointing out the white-ish yellow stuff. "And the fork for everything else," she says.

"Okay…" I say, understanding the spoon things best. Grits seems to be the correct word for this… ground corn. The cheese isn't necessary, but it's to my taste. I could deal with this again. Hash-browns are potatoes, not anything I need in my life. The biscuit is hardest to figure out, but then I see someone cutting it with his fork a follow suit. It's not bad I suppose, but I don't get it.

Humans are completely befuddling creatures. They're so weak, and so cocky in that weakness. I've never seen a human who has interested me before. They are seem to scurry about in their short lives, desperately trying to make themselves immortal (or at least not forgotten), but few will be remembered past two generations, especially because the rest of the clamor for their things to be remembered, washing away what was done before. It's cute.

"Whatcha think you doin fag, flirtin with ma girl?" A man asks from behind me. The waitress in the kitchen. I'd caught her trying to keep the man away before. He's very drunk.

"You mean the girl who was flirting with me?" I ask, raising the coffee cup to my lips to get the last sip before the man knocks it out of my hands and it smashes on the ground. I take a deep breath, and realize that I'm not wearing my mask. There's no familiar comfort or control now. I reach out instantly to grab it, not needing to kill even this moron, but it's gone from where it was.

"You lookin for this, fag?" the man asks, holding up the mask. "What's a dykey guy like you all dressed up for. It ain't Halloween ya know, ya fag," he says, grinning stupidly before bursting into laughter. I don't know what he means, but it doesn't matter. Oh well… and I was enjoying being so good too. I glance out the window. The sky's lighter… I might still get my wish anyway.

I take a deep breath, feeling my power levels rise. So relaxing, not trying to be in control. My hair flits in front of my eyes, completely blond. The man never notices, his head's gone. I move past him. I boredly walk by each person in the dinner. Some jump up and try to run, others don't even notice as their insides explode. Blood on the walls, intestines on the floor, and the smell of burnt flesh in the air. Delicious.

"Monster," the last man screams, trying to take a swing at me. I'm bored, let's have fun. His right foot explodes. He tries another hit so his hand explodes. For good measure I explode his left knee and he crumples to the ground, screaming in pain. "D-demon," he mutters.

"Good answer," I purr. He amuses me, so I explode the air in his lungs as he takes his final breath. He doesn't take another. It's less messy that way. I turn to a man on his knees, doing… something. "What are you doing?" I ask with a laugh.

"P-p-praying to God," he stutters out. I laugh again and explode him.

"There is no God with a capital G, you fool" I say and then laugh at my own foolishness. "Oh, silly me, you're already dead, so you know that already… oh dear, dear, dear, "I mutter, looking around the room. No one's left alive, such a pity.

I hear a clatter and turn. There's the waitress behind the counter. She's frightened. It's pretty. "Are you sc-sc-scared?" I ask with a wild laugh as I stride over to her. "I told you I was very well capable of it."

She glares at me suddenly. So very pretty. "Go to hell," she whispers.

"Ah, hmm… no, I don't think so, I want to see the sunrise," I say, glancing out the window. It's lighter, but the sun won't be out for maybe thirty minutes to an hour. Oh well. "You were flirting with me early, why don't you flirt down, little bird?" I ask.

"Go to hell," she says a little louder.

I laugh and hop up on the counter, swinging my legs over and drawing her into a hug and kiss. She struggles, but she is a pretty little human bird, and I am a big, strong, powerful demon crow. "You know what?"I breath in her ear. "I think I've fallen in love with you," I whisper.

She can only let out a shuddering gasp. I blew up her heart. There's no blood, expect near her mouth. She's prettier that way. I sit in silence, looking down at the dead woman in my arms for a few moment before I hear a shuffling sound in the kitchen. The man in the back's head explodes. His establishment is too dirty to pass health inspections now, no point in trying to make him make him live when he can't make a living.

"Good night…" I look for the dead woman's name tag. I can't read it. It's just as well. I let the body drop to the floor. I've lost another love; she doesn't need to have a name. It's easier to mourn that way. Turn around, swinging my legs back over the counter and hoping down. "She never took my plate, what I pity," I say to no one. I reach down and take my mask before walking back to the kitchen. I wash the dead man's blood out of it, and the sulfur and the residue gunpowder, just like my lost love wanted me too. Then I put it on. It does smell better.

I take a few deep breaths until I see my hair as black in the clean mirror. Someone once took pride in this place, I think as I walk out. I will not make their pride be seen so dirty. As I walk away the entire build explodes behind me. For a human, the blast would have thrown them forward. For me it is like a familiar friend, and I simply say goodbye and walk away.

What I did was practical too, it'll make it easier for my slip to be covered up. The Toguros will be annoyed by the flashiness, but when they calm down they will know that I could have caused them far more troubles than I did.

Besides that, I did my job. I killed the senator they told me to, and I did it. Just a little explosion in the heart, made it seems like a heart attack or something. The humans won't know what to make of it, but will eventually rule t a heart attack and not think about it anymore. Humans are so cute.

It's been so long since I've seen a sunrise, and I'm excited. I'm far enough away that the burning building won't bother the sights, and I sit down, content to watch the sun come up over the horizon. I'm grinning behind my mask. I've not seen daylight in twelve years, and I've never seen the sun rise in the human world.

As the sun is about to come up flesh wraps around my eyes so I cannot see. "You have failed us Karasu, you have caused quite a problem. You must be punished," the Elder Toguro says. I contemplate crying out of frustration, but it will do no good, so near tears come.

"Of course," I say, standing. The Elder brother drags me away, hand over my eyes the whole time.

* * *

A/N: So, how was it? Elder Toguro gives me the freaking creeps. Baby brother Toguro has the worst midlife crisis in history, but his big brother is just *shivers* EEEEW!

I wanted to do something that wasn't in the 'when I like something, I like to take it away' vein. Karasu falls instantly in love, and he feels like a wonderfully tragic figure for holding his love as she dies, and then he goes away, feeling happy to mourn… creepy bastard. No necrophilia… but all kinds of other problems.


End file.
